“You’re sexy as hell right now, do you know that?”
I don’t say anything. Flirting never used to get to me the way it does with Wesley. He’s like one of those songs you can listen to all day and never get tired of. I’m so affected and fascinated by him, I almost think he has a chance of beating me.
There’s just one card in his hands when he’s forced to draw again. His eyes watch me as he takes a drink.
“Well?” I prompt him. “Tell me about yourself. You owe me another piece of info. Make it a good one.”
“I could tell you a lot of things,” he says. “My birthday is July twentieth. I eat too much Chinese food. Also, I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”
Wow. Okay. That was definitely a good one.
I hold my breath, suddenly all too aware of my lips. A second ago they were a body part attached to my face. Now they’re the only part of me I can focus on. And now I’m remembering what it felt like when my mouth was pressed against his.
He sets down a card. I set down one after his, not entirely sure it’s a legal one since I can’t think straight. “I’m onto you, you know. I see that you’re trying to distract me.” It just now occurs to me that I set down my eight. “And I’m changing the suit to clubs.”
He sets down his last card—the four of clubs. “If I was trying to distract you, it worked.”
I’m so stunned, I stare at his card for a few seconds, dazed. By my count, there shouldn’t have been any more clubs in the deck. Diamonds and spades should be the only ones left. He actually beat me.
Well, damn.
I narrow my eyes on him. “You fed me compliments to distract me.”
“Maybe. But I still meant everything I said.”
“I demand a rematch.”
“Fine by me,” he says, grinning. “If you want to lose twice.”
We play several hands of Crazy Eights, followed by a few of Go Fish. As the night wears on, Wesley moves the coffee table out of the way and places a blanket and throw pillows across the wooden floor. We continue to play cards on the blanket until we’re both buzzed and sleepy.
“Do you hear that?” I ask him.
“What?”
“Silence. I can’t hear the rain.”
“We’re in the eye of the storm,” he says. “It’s not supposed to be over until five in the morning.”
I lay down, resting my head against one of the pillows. Wesley lies beside me, passing me the bottle of whiskey. I take a sip, no longer feeling the burn it caused when I first started drinking it. Now it goes down smooth and easy.
Wesley scrolls through his phone, trying to view his Doppler radar app. “No use. There’s still no signal,” he says, turning it off.
I give him back his bottle. He tucks it into the crook of his arms, staring at the ceiling. I stare at the ceiling too, watching shadows dance back and forth as the candle flames flicker. Most of them have burnt out, darkening the room.
“Hey Wesley?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“I know why you misjudged me, and I get it. I really do.” I turn my head to face him. “But why didn’t we speak to each other? For three years, we just went about our lives without getting to know each other. For the life of me, I can’t understand why.”
Although that question has been weighing on my mind, I never really intended to bring it up. I don’t think I wanted to know the reasons why. But there it is. Out in the open. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s too late to take it back now.
Wesley’s eyes tighten at the corners. “I don’t know if I have a good answer for you.”
“There are no good answers. Only the truth.”
He lets out a small sigh. “It wasn’t so much that I was ignoring you as it was pretending you didn’t exist.”
In some ways, that’s worse than being ignored. “Your dad?” I ask, swallowing.
He nods. “Guess I was still trying to punish him even while he lay in his grave.”
As much as I hate how it played out, I understand where Wesley’s coming from more than he’ll ever know. Although my dad is technically alive, sometimes it feels like he’s dead. If I could punish him for that, I would. “Whatever he did to make you hate him so much, I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it.
“You didn’t know that version of Harland,” he says. “You cared about him.”
“True,” I allow. “But I do know a thing or two about deadbeat dads. Those are more common than you think.”
His eyes shift to mine, and we both stay silent, frozen in the moment. Several seconds tick by. He continues to stare at me with so much intensity I’m afraid to breathe. “So what’s your reason?” he asks, breaking the almost supernatural hold. “Why did you ignore me?”
I look away, refocusing on the ceiling. “It’s obvious Harland wanted us to be friends. I figured if I tried and failed, I’d be failing his last wish. So I blamed you instead. Pretending it was all your fault gave me an out.”
He doesn’t say anything right away, and I’m afraid to look at him. In the space between us, I feel his fingers thread through mine. What did I tell Hayes about holding hands? Oh yeah. That it’s a way of saying I am yours, and you are mine. A really powerful way of saying it …
“Wesley, I—”
“I want to kiss you.”
My eyes dart to his. I shake my head. “Bad idea.”
“How could it possibly be a bad idea?”
I don’t want to tell him the truth. I don’t want to tell him I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun doing nothing. Or that I’m afraid that, like all moments do, ours will eventually come to an end. But most importantly, I don’t want to tell him how afraid I am of jeopardizing whatever is going on here by confusing it with sex.
I like Wesley. I feel like I just found him. But I’ve seen how he works. When sex is involved, he doesn’t stick around for long. Friendship is another matter. His loyalty is admirable; I’ve seen him stay friends with the same people for years.
I turn on my side, propping my head up on my elbow. “Here’s an idea. What if we became friends?”
“I don’t believe in being friends with girls.”
I blink a few times, absorbing that one. “Why not?”
“Because someone will eventually develop feelings. I don’t care how much you try to convince me otherwise.”
“That’s seriously the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Not to mention sexist. Lots of guys can be friends with girls. It happens all the time. I’m friends with Hayes,” I point out.
“Don’t you mean your ex-boyfriend, Hayes?”
“Okay, I should probably admit something.” I twist my bracelet around my wrist, fidgeting with the charms. “Hayes and I were never really a couple.”
“Wait—are you telling me your epic romance was all a lie?” Wesley starts to laugh. “I can’t believe it.”
Angry now, I shake my hand out of his. My gut told me he knew the whole time, but he could’ve said something and saved me the embarrassment.
In one quick movement, Wesley flips over me, pinning me beneath him. He traces one of his fingers over my lips. “Just kiss. I swear that’s all we’ll do. Afterward, we can carry on and pretend that nothing happened if you want.”
My body goes completely still. He’s hovering above me, and I feel like the patient in the board game Operation. The moment he even brushes against me, a loud buzzer will sound off like a warning. I shake my head to tell him no.
He lowers his mouth to the side of my head, pressing his lips against my ear. “Tell me you want me to kiss you. Please. I need to hear you say it.”
His warm breath makes me shiver. Maybe it’s the candlelight, or maybe it’s the whiskey, I’m not sure, but my thoughts begin to slow down. One by one, they fall out of my head until I’m no longer thinking about anything other than the feel of him slowly pressing against my body, conforming min
e to his.
I stare at his lips. There are so many good, valid reasons to say no, but I don’t want to. It’s almost killing me how much I don’t want to.
“Kiss me, Wesley.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth collides into mine. Just like before, there’s a magnetic energy attached to him. His tongue slips into my mouth, and it feels like the blood is rushing from my head. My hands glide up his back and into his hair. I try to touch every part of him I can grasp, memorizing the way he feels.
Before I can think about it. Before I can regret it.
I’m not thinking at all anymore, just feeling, and it’s incredible. Explosive. Tormenting. Beautiful. I writhe my hips against him, doing anything I can do to get closer. When I feel the hardness between my legs, it makes me want him that much more. I begin to kiss him with a fierceness I didn’t realize was in me.
“Fuck, Dahlia.” He breathes against my neck. “We need to stop, or I won’t be able to keep my promise.”
“Don’t care about your promise,” I murmur. And I don’t.
My body is developing a mind of its own. All I can think about is how amazing the pleasure and excitement he’s driving into me feels. Ending it would be tragic.
Wesley lifts up slightly. “Have you ever done this before?”
I have a feeling the answer to that question might change the outcome of what’s happening. I don’t want to tell him the truth, but I know I have to. I shake my head, and as soon as I do, he drops his head against the pillow beside me. A muffled groan escapes.
“Why does it matter?” I ask, touching his arm.
I hate that he’s not touching me anymore. Or kissing me anymore.
Wesley pulls himself up and slides away from me. “Trust me, it matters.”
I scoot toward him, inching closer. “Wesley, I—”
“Stay right there.” He holds out an arm as if to keep me at bay. “I need you to stay right there.”
“This is crazy.” I laugh once. “First you want me, and as soon as you know I’m a virgin, you don’t want to be anywhere near me.”
“That’s not true.” He takes a few breaths, still holding his arm out to ward me off. “Make no mistake. I want to fuck you into oblivion right now. You have no idea.”
I bite my lower lip. Hearing him say that makes me want to beg him to do it. “So what’s the problem then?” I try not to sound as dejected as I feel. It doesn’t work.
I lean back against the pillows behind me, grabbing one and hugging it against my chest. I hear Wesley sigh and make his way back to me. He pulls my chin up so that I face him. “Your first time shouldn’t be clouded by whiskey. You should have every available sense so that you remember the entire experience. The excitement. The awkward moments. How you feel. Everything.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Also, you deserve to be taken out on a date first. You know, to make it special and shit. Girls like that kind of stuff.”
I smile in spite of the way I’m feeling. He makes some really good points. But still…it sucks. No one ever told me just how much rejection sucks. I try to remind myself he’s only rejecting me within this moment. And besides, this gives me ample time to collect myself and really think about whether or not I want to get involved with him. Only a few moments ago, I was convinced we should be friends and nothing more.
“Dahlia?”
“Yes?”
“Will you go out on a date with me?” He winks, letting me know exactly what that invitation suggests.
My smile grows wider. “Maybe,” I say. “I’ll have to think about it. I’m newly single, you know.”
He grabs my ankles, hauling me toward him. I gasp, startled. He leans toward me, his face only centimeters from mine. “Dahlia?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going out on a date with me.”
“Um, I need to check my schedule.”
“Dahlia.”
“Yes?”
“I’m taking you to the goddamned Cheesecake Factory, and you’re going to love it.”
“Well now that you mention cheesecake…”
He presses his lips against mine as I giggle beneath him, but only for a brief moment. As soon as it’s over, he backs away again. “Glad that’s settled.” He reaches for a pillow and lies down on the far end of the blanket and closes his eyes.
I shake my head, wondering what the hell I just got myself into.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAHLIA
Waiting for Gwen is making me antsy. There’s so much I want to tell her. Everything that happened last night. Everything that almost happened last night. My head is still spinning. I need an outlet. I need my best friend. And besides, she made me swear an oath to give her details. I am proud to say I can live up to that promise.
When she walks in through the door, I jump up from where I’m sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. “Gwen, you’re here!” Finally.
She pushes the door shut behind her, holding her heels in one hand and her purse in the other. Dark circles shadow her eyes. Something is off. Usually she wears her mood on her sleeve, but her face is solid as a stone.
“Everything okay?”
Her eyes lift to mine, as if she’s just noticing I’m in the room. “I’m fine.” But she doesn’t sound fine. Even her voice sounds dead.
She slowly walks toward the stairs, lifeless, and I follow her. “Gwen, I can see that something is wrong.” I move around her to block her path, which isn’t hard to do since she’s moving at the rate of a snail. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Is this about the internet guy?”
She places one hand on the banister, steadying herself. “Doll?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember how I asked you the other day why you stopped dressing and acting like yourself?”
I nod.
“And do you remember how you told me you couldn’t talk about it?”
“Yes, but—”
“This is one of those things, Doll,” she says, swallowing. Pain flickers in her eyes for a split second, and then it’s gone again. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Jesus, Gwen. Please don’t use that against me right now.” I grab her by the arm. “Tell me the truth, did someone…” I can barely get the words out. “Hurt you?”
She stops and looks at me. I don’t think she expected me to jump to that conclusion. “No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing like that.”
“You swear?”
“I swear, Doll. I’m just…” She looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “Disappointed, I guess. I found out some things I wish I hadn’t known.”
I watch her, feeling helpless. Not being able to fix what’s wrong is killing me, and I hate that she doesn’t trust me enough to talk about it.
“I’ll be fine,” she tells me. “Just give me a day or two, and then I’ll be back to normal. But you can’t ask me to talk about this, Doll. Ever. Do you understand?”
I don’t understand anything. Not the way she’s acting. Or why she looks like a zombie. Or what could’ve happened in one night to change her so drastically. But I nod my head anyway.
“Good,” she sighs. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow.”
It’s still early in the afternoon, but I don’t ask any questions. Part of me gets it. Some things are too difficult to talk about. It’s easier to hide yourself away, spend all day in bed and shut out the rest of the world. The not talking scares me though. The kind of things you can’t say out loud are the kind of things that break your soul. All Gwen did was go to a party. To meet a boy. She left here excited, looking for love. What could’ve been devastating enough to break her soul?
Disappointed now because I won’t be spending the afternoon gossiping with Gwen, I don’t know what to do with myself. The pit of my stomach twists and spirals until I’m forced to walk it off.
I head outside, curious to see what the grounds look like. Sunlight hits my eyes. It’s shining so bright, it’s as if last night never happened. The front steps c
reak beneath my feet. When I look around, my eyes roaming warily over the front lawn, I’m shown the real evidence of last night. And it definitely did happen.
Nature has deconstructed our once cheery, manicured lawn, covering it with piles of debris, branches, moss, and leaves. Our round driveway has been narrowed into small patches of white, the fountain in the center of it covered with some monstrous plant. I look back at the house and wince. The poor, tortured oak trees next to my window have broken limbs, some of them scattered on top of the roof. The flowerbeds running along the sides of the house appear ransacked, most of the mulch blown across the yard.
The whole place is one depressing nightmare.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
The low rasp of Wesley’s voice startles me. I turn around and see him walking toward the front porch, a trash bag in one hand and a rake in the other. He sets the trash bag down and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Um, hi.” Yeah, that wasn’t awkward at all.
“Bout time you got your ass out here to help.” He tosses me the rake. “This is your house too, you know.”
“Didn’t Harland hire gardeners to do this sort of thing?”
“Yes, but they have the day off, and we’re perfectly capable of making this place look like our home again.”
Our home. Those two words warm me all over. For the first time since I moved into Kent House, it’s starting to feel like a home.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who’s afraid to break a nail,” he taunts me, a wicked grin pulling at his lips. “You afraid of getting a little dirty?”
His question seems suggestive, but maybe it’s just in my head. After last night, all I can think about is the way it felt to be pinned down beneath him. And that’s why my mind goes straight to the gutter.
“I am not one of those girls,” I say, yanking the rake with me as I tread across the yard.
I hear him laughing behind me, and it pisses me off a little. He doesn’t think I can handle yard work? Please. Just because I live in a mansion now doesn’t mean I grew up spoiled. The big houses and servants are part of his world, not mine. I’ll have this whole place back in shape before he even finishes with those boards. Then we’ll see who’s afraid of breaking a nail.
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